To Tread the Path of Darkness
by childofchild
Summary: Finished. One may help Frodo fight the seductive call of the Ring, someone who walks a dark path all his own. A tale of friendship and dark paths.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Prologue of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

            Frodo glanced down at the Ring.  He drew up his legs, shivering slightly in the cold but refusing to acknowledge that this action was to hide the Ring from the Fellowship, not to banish the chill.  Sam sat several feet away but was preoccupied in his own task of preparing a meager meal that he did not pay any attention to his master.  For this, Frodo was glad.  

            Ever since their departure from Rivendell, the eldest hobbit could detect eyes watching his every movement.  Sam was constantly at his side seeing if his master needed this or that or if Mr. Frodo was sure he didn't want to rest a bit longer or perhaps have a few extra helpings of soup.  Frodo knew he meant well and he loved Sam dearly but felt himself being smothered and didn't exactly know how to tell Sam to, well, back off.  

            It wasn't just Sam, though, but all the Hobbits.  Pippin was going out of his way to make certain his cousin talked and Merry, though quiet and subtler than the other two, would now and again sit himself purposely down and comment upon the not-so beautiful day.  If Frodo had given these actions a bit more thought he would have realized that these were to the Hobbits' normal characteristics.  Sam always fussed over his master and Pippin _always _talked (though he was perhaps not so inclined to let others do the same) and Merry often would make certain remarks that had nothing to do with anything and only said such because he could.  It wasn't his cousins nor his Sam that had changed, but Frodo himself.  Unfortunately, the elder Hobbit's eyes were closed to this and open only to the Ring.

            Frodo looked over at Aragorn and seeing he was preoccupied with other matters, looked hurriedly to Gandalf.  To his satisfaction he saw the wizard deep in thought, his back to the Fellowship, thinking on things that none could tell.  In one quick motion, Frodo unfastened the silver chain from about his neck and hurriedly brought it down to hide behind his upraised knees.  He looked about to make sure none had noticed and when he saw that none had, Frodo opened his balled hand and gazed curiously at the golden band.

            He had never really looked at it; save the first time Gandalf had voiced his fears.  But the wizard had been present and had watched his every movement and read every flicker of emotion upon the Hobbit's tender face.  Frodo had never faced the Ring, just It and him.

            The weight in his hand was not so heavy, he reflected, feeling its coldness on his palm.  There was nothing odd about It, nothing unique that he had not seen before.  Frodo clutched It between thumb and forefinger and turned It this way and that.  In fact, he mused, It appeared _too_ normal, too plain . . . too innocent.  Who would claim that an object able to rest so comfortably in a halfling's small hand would have the power to devastate Middle-earth?

            Frodo's fingers closed over It and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth.  'It has come to me,' he thought.  'How very odd.  Such a powerful thing and It has come to a Hobbit hidden within the quiet Shire.'  

            His gaze once again fell to Aragorn, who spoke softly to the Elf Legolas.  A smile touched the Ranger's lips and the Elf laughed lightly.

            Frodo frowned, his gaze falling back to his balled fist.  'Such a thing would better be held by Aragorn or even Legolas.  Certainly Gandalf would be more suited.'  Raising his eyes, Frodo saw Aragorn shake his head at the Elf as Legolas said something in his own tongue.  Frodo, somewhat learned in the Elf Speech, caught several phrases but could not focus on their conversation.  He watched their merriment for several moments longer, then turned aside.

~*~


	2. Durin's Bane

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the First Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Durin's Bane

            Peregrin Took peered over the Dwarf's broad shoulders.  "That wouldn't be ale, would it?"  The halfling's eyes shimmered brilliantly.  Gimli raised a thick brow but otherwise made no indication that he had heard the Hobbit.  Pippin's eyes remained fixated upon the bulging wineskin grasped in the Dwarf's gloved hand.  He sidled around to better see it.  "You know Gandalf doesn't want us carrying such?" he commented lightly.

            Gimli made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.  He shifted his weight, hunching his shoulders and growling softly.  Several feet away, the Elf Legolas watched this display in quiet amusement.

            "It makes no matter to me, mind," Pippin continued, ignoring the fact that the Dwarf was ignoring him.  "It's just . . ."  His hand itched abominably and he scratched at it irritably.  "What I mean is . . . well . . ."  He pulled his gaze from the wineskin and looked up at the Dwarf.  "Might I have just a small taste?"

            Gimli peered at the Hobbit in surprise and Pippin flushed slightly.  "It's been such a terribly long time . . ." he said, as a way of explaining.  He shrugged helplessly and gave the Dwarf a pleading look.  Gimli seemed to think on this, then peered around the halfling's slight frame to Frodo and Merry, who were too preoccupied with their own thoughts to pay much mind to their busy cousin.  The Dwarf's gaze returned to the hopeful Hobbit.      

            "And what would your three friends say about this?" Gimli asked, for he suspected the youngest halfling wasn't telling him something by the way in which he kept peering nervously at Meriadoc and then Frodo.

            Immediately, Peregrin got on the defensive.  "What should they say?" he demanded, straightening indignantly.  "I'm old enough.  Nearly twenty-nine, I am.  Younger Hobbits than I crowd the inns of the Shire."  

            Gimli chuckled, mildy impressed with the young halfling's bold words, foolish though they may be.  "Your size deceives the mind, Master Hobbit," the Dwarf said lightly, removing the cap from the wineskin.  "I did not think and for that I beg your pardon.  The ways of your people are strange to me, as are mine to you.  

            "Here," he passed the skin to Pippin's eagerly clutching fingers, noting absently the curious gaze of the Elf.  "Take it with care," the Dwarf cautioned.  "I dare say it is unlike anything you have had."  To his surprise, Pippin nodded in understanding and took several testing sips.  Pleased, the Hobbit took one long gulp and, with eyes watering, his smooth boyish face screwed up in a testimony of his distaste.  With great difficulty, Pippin finally managed to swallow the burning liquid.  The halfling gasped and choked.

            Gimli laughed.  "What did I tell you."

            "That's . . . good," Pippin finally managed.  He shivered and a great grin spread across his features.  "_Very _good."  He handed the wineskin over and the Dwarf accepted it with a nod.  "What is it?" he asked.  "Certainly not ale.  Malt beer?  I've never had anything like it!"  Pippin's eyes were positively glistening in pleasure.

            Gimli shook his head.  "Nay, 'tis my own concoction," he said.  "Durin's Bane, I name it, for it has the strength to knock a grown Dwarf off his feet, even the great Durin himself mayhaps.  You took to it well, young Hobbit," the Dwarf commented and Pippin beamed with pride.

            "It's very good," he said again.  

            "Yes, well," the Dwarf muttered into his beard, embarrassingly pleased with the Hobbit's praise.  "It took me many years to perfect it to my liking."

            Young Peregrin opened his mouth to inquire upon exactly how many years but was cut short by his cousin, whom he had completely forgotten.

            "Pippin," Merry called suddenly and Pippin jumped.  He looked guiltily at the Dwarf and sidled back several steps, as though he suspected the Dwarf would cry out his mischief to the whole of Middle-earth.  Gimli had no such compunctions, however, and merely watched the Hobbit silently.

            "Yes, Merry?" Pippin called, in forced cheer and innocence. 

            "Come help me gather some firewood," he said and Pippin raced off to join his cousin.

            The Dwarf watched the small halfling in quiet amusement then took a fair swig of the golden liquid and sighed in content.  He did not hear the Elf's approach.

            "Your own make?" Legolas inquired curiously.

            Gimli jumped and peered up at the lean Elf suspiciously, not knowing whether to answer him in fair tones or ignore him altogether.  Recalling that it was the Elf who had approached him, which therefore placed Legolas at a disadvantage, Gimli came to the conclusion that he ought be gracious.  

            "Aye."

            Legolas nodded slowly, studying the slightly less-bulging wineskin with sharp Elvish eyes.  "That's quite a feat, Master Dwarf," he said and Gimli's eyes narrowed in suspicion.  "May I?"  He quirked a delicate brow.

            Gimli frowned darkly, not trusting the quick mind of the Elf--_any _Elf--to keep him free of pains, but without sufficient reasoning he couldn't rightly deny him the request.  Besides, the Dwarf _was_ curious. . . .

            Gimli's thick hand dropped the skin in the Elf's delicate one.  "It's nothing like Elvish wine," Gimli warned and the Elf waved it aside.  Brushing a strand of hair from tickling his nose, Legolas tipped the skin and swallowed deeply--

            And immediately chocked.  He spat the liquid from his offended mouth. "Horse piss!" the Elf cursed.  He coughed, gagged and tossed the jostling wineskin down.  Legolas grimaced.

            Quite pleased with a job well done, the Dwarf roared with laughter.

~*~


	3. Old Wounds

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Second Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Old Wounds

            Boromir the Man glanced distastefully at the small Hobbit that twitched and squirmed beside him.  A small fire had been built thanks to the Man (though he would acknowledge the two youngest Hobbits' contributions to the blaze) and its warm tendrils wrapped soothingly around Man, Elf, Dwarf, and Hobbit alike.  The Fellowship rested contently and somewhat more comfortably than one would think was possible on such a mission as they had taken.  The night was cool but not uncomfortably so and Boromir relished the crispness that it held.  He loved nights like these--it brought him back to the walls of Minas Tirith.  The Man's slight sigh of sorrow was cut off as a sharp elbow caught him in the thigh.  He glared down at the halfling.

            "Sorry," Pippin whispered sheepishly.  Beside him, his cousin chided him.

            "Aren't you tired, Pip?" Merry asked drowsily, nearly beyond the waking world.  "Go to sleep."

            Peregrin glanced at his cousin; then wriggled down into his thin blanket, cast it aside, pulled himself to a sitting position, and feeling the sharp gaze of the Man on him, looked up at Boromir.

            "Is something the matter?" the Man inquired, slightly amused and slightly irritated.  The Hobbit was worse than a child.

            Pippin shrugged.  "Rocks," he said.  Quiet snores came suddenly and Pippin glanced sharply at Merry beside him.  The older Hobbit slept soundly.

            Across the way and unnaturally far from his younger cousins, Frodo smiled a quiet smile.  "Come now, Pip," he said cheerfully, "Your always asleep on your feet.  Why is tonight so different?"

            Gimli, seated firmly against an old weathered stone, shifted slightly.  "Perhaps the lad needs a stiff drink?" and he pulled from his pack the wineskin.  Pippin, eyes suddenly bright and eager, sat up.  Boromir saw the eldest hobbit's gaze darken and fall accusingly on the youngest.

            "Pippin," Frodo said sternly and immediately Peregrin seemed to recall his cousin.  His face flushed bright and he hunched low in his blankets.  Wide, innocent eyes fell on Frodo.

            "Yes, Cousin?" Pippin ventured timidly.  His delicate fingers entwined nervously in the fabric of his cloak.

            Frodo's frown deepened.  "May I have a word with you, please?"  Pippin glanced at Gimli but found the Dwarf had taken a sudden interest in the glistening stars overhead.  Finding no help there, the young Hobbit looked to the Man.  Boromir sniffed, rubbed his chin and rose ungraciously to his feet.  Perhaps Aragorn was in need of his assistance on watch.

            Now completely abandoned and knowing he'd find no help in Merry, even had his cousin been awake, Pippin slowly rose and made his way around the fire to Frodo.  Sam snored softly beside his master and was, for once, honestly asleep.  Pippin wished desperately that his cousin might turn aside, if for just a moment, so that he might kick the sleeping Sam.  The young Took was in need of anyone's help--even his cousin's servant.

            Pippin came before the seated Frodo, deciding that his best bet would be to feign ignorance.  He was good at that.

            "What seems to be the trouble?" he asked lightly, his eyes falling upon anything but the deep ocean of his cousin's gaze.

            "I could ask you the same thing," Frodo returned, his words clipped.

            'He's disappointed,' Pippin realized sadly.  'I didn't mean to, honest.  Cousin Frodo must know this.'  Slowly, Pippin's gaze locked with that of his cousin's and the youngsters nonchalant air melted, as does the snow from the summer sun.

            "All I had was a sip," Pippin cried, the guilt slamming into him full force.  He fell helplessly to the ground, tired and in a sense, exhausted.  "You cannot begrudge me this, Frodo.  Not when I've done so well!"

            "One sip, Pippin, one sip?" Frodo repeated, shaking his head in quiet disbelief.  "Try five glasses at Lord Elrond's dinner.  Try two more after the rest of us went to bed."  Pippin's eyes widened in shock.  "And what of the night we left Crickhollow, Pip, what of then?  Did you only have one sip?"

            "I--no, I . . ." Pippin stuttered, horrified.

            "Did you think I was so blind, Little Cousin," Frodo demanded, anger thick in his soft voice.  "Did you think I wouldn't notice?  There is a reason why you cannot drink, Pip, there is!" 

             His voice had risen much louder than usual, causing those who were not already aware of the Ringbearer's displeasure to peer curiously over at the two halflings.  Sam was awakened from his deep slumber but, seeing his master's face, immediately curled up and pretended to sleep.  Merry, however, did not fall into pretense, for once Frodo's harsh words roused him he looked from cousin to cousin in evident confusion.

            Neither Pippin nor Frodo noticed any of this.  "I will not see my youngest cousin lying on the floor again, drunk beyond this mortal realm," Frodo gritted.  Tears were in his eyes and he damned them.  "I will _not_!"  

            The young Hobbit shook himself, torn between guilt and that ever-present urge to defend himself.  "It was a one time thing, Cousin," he tried to sooth.  "An accident.  I had not meant to take it that far and I do not mean to again.  It's just . . ."  He frowned and looked hard at his elder.  "You cannot take this from me, Frodo, you _can't_."

            "Why can't I, Pippin?" Frodo whispered.  "Is it because you depend so wholly upon it?  That night--" Frodo swallowed and his face contorted in pain.  He shivered and then suddenly was calm.  He looked at his young cousin and said evenly, "Do not let it happen again, Peregrin.  Do you hear me?  You will not touch an ounce of it.  Not one sip; not one gulp.  Not anything."

            Pippin froze, looked at his cousin and saw such conviction in his gaze that it frightened him.  He gulped but did not back down; it was not in the Took's nature to do so.  "You cannot make me, Cousin," he said softly and Frodo's eyes widened.  Down in his bedroll, Samwise twitched.

            "Peregrin Took," Merry snapped, jumping to his feet and coming around the campfire.  "You _will _respect your elders."

            Pippin jumped and for the first time seemed to note that the rest of the Fellowship was present.  He scrambled to his feet.  "Merry," he began, breathless, but he was cut short.

            "Just because we are miles from home does not give you the right to disregard Cousin Frodo.  For all intents and purposes he is your father--"

            "Merry," Frodo cautioned, seeing Pippin flush in humiliation.  He got unsteadily to his feet.

            Meriadoc shook his head firmly.  "No, Frodo, you are right and Pippin needs to understand."  He turned back to his younger cousin.  "Your mother and father charged us with your safety, Pippin, and how would it look if we returned home without their son.  'No, Auntie Eglantine, it wasn't the wild orcs that got him it was the ale.  Finally took him, it did.'  A fine tale that would make, I'm sure Diamond would be right proud of you--"

            "Merry!" Frodo hissed, shocked.  "Enough.  We will speak no more of it."  Without a second glance, Frodo turned to Pippin.  The youngest Hobbit shook uncontrollably; his eyes on Merry were filled with such rage Frodo wondered that he did not attack the Brandybuck.  "Pippin," Frodo said softly but Peregrin did not hear him.  "Pippin," he said again.

            Slowly, Pippin's eyes shifted and, his breath coming harsh, he looked to his older cousin.  "Go to bed, Pip," Frodo said.  Pippin stared at him for many moments, uncomprehending, then he blinked and without meeting anyone's gaze he stumbled to his thin bedroll and curled up within its depths.  Peregrin did not sleep that night.

            Merry heaved a ragged sigh and collapsed, nearly within the crackling fire.  His head in his hands, he began to sob.  "I did not see . . . how could I not see . . ."

            Frodo, his eyes still on the youngest of his kin, swayed slightly but caught himself upon a gnarled old tree trunk.  Without a word, his hand crept up to his throat where he desperately grasped the small golden band and was comforted.

~*~


	4. To Hurt is to Help

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  Hai—Most of my stories have nothing to do with any of my other stories.  I like doing it this way because it gives me a lot of leeway to do what I want when I want.  Say, if you read "And There Were Four" Pippin is not a drunk in that tale.  Therefore, anything I write in this story will be explained later on…I hope.  If there is something you don't understand, feel free to ask.  And you may read my other fics, too, if you want…I don't mind.^^

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Third Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

To Hurt is to Help

            Peregrin walked dejectedly in the fore of the Hobbits, hunched so far down in his cloak that one might have wondered if he wished to disappear.  They would have been correct in the assumption for that was exactly what Pippin was trying to accomplish.  It wasn't working too well.  

            He knew that he had caused a scene last night and the whole Fellowship had heard Frodo and their argument.  No one would look at him, each individual smoothly looking this way or that whenever his eyes fell upon them.  Frodo was the only one that did not shy away from his gaze, but this didn't comfort the young hobbit; indeed, he was forced to look away himself.  He was ashamed of his hot temper and though his cousins' over protectiveness nearly made him scream sometimes, he could not begrudge them it.  They had been watching after him since before he could remember and if Pippin one day found that he could take care of himself it wasn't their fault.  Unfortunately, he did not know how to tell them this so that they'd listen.  He was still their "Little Pip."

            "We will rest," Gandalf's gruff voice came from somewhere up ahead.  

            Packs were thrown gratefully from sore shoulders as each individual began preparations for a quick meal.  Pippin cast his own bag aside and without a look at his kin, raced off to gather sticks and branches for a fire.  He meandered around for a time, discarding this piece, picking up that piece until his legs bowed from the load.  Still, he was in no hurry to return to the Fellowship.  He attempting to pick up several others and at the last spilled the entire armload.  With a sigh--one that wasn't too heart wrenching--he began to pile the wood once again in his arms.

            A large hand reached down and picked up three that otherwise would have been too thick for the halfling to grasp at once.  Pippin blinked, then peered up into the hard face of Gimli the Dwarf.  The Hobbit's face flushed slightly and he mumbled something, stooped low to allow his curls to hide his features and began picking up the branches with rekindled enthusiasm.

            "Easy there, my young friend," Gimli grunted, placing a heavy hand on thin shoulder.  "I just wanted to . . ."  Gimli mumbled something, coughed and tried again.  "What I mean is--"

            "You did it on purpose," Pippin said softly, his grip on the wood tightening.

            Gimli's hand slipped off the halfling in startlement.  Pippin gazed up at the Dwarf.  "You offered me the drink so that Frodo would see, didn't you?"

            Held at bay by the Hobbit's piercing gaze, Gimli sighed deeply and nodded.  "Aye, Master Peregrin, that I did." 

            "Why?" Pippin demanded.  "I was doing just fine.  Merry and Frodo were oblivious . . . or, at least, they weren't saying anything.  Both of them were unconcerned and everything was finally going back to the way it use to be." 

            "Use to be?" Gimli pressed gently.  Now, here was the key.  Here was what the Dwarf had seen in the young Hobbit's gaze when he had inquired about the drink the first time and Pippin had glanced at his cousins nervously.

            "Before," Pippin said sharply, as if that explained it.

            Gimli tried again.  "Before what?"

            Pippin glared up at the Dwarf, chewing his bottom lip irritably.  They were such odd beings, these Dwarves.  So large and hulking and yet at the same time so soft and gentle.  Pippin didn't trust him.  

            "Before I screwed everything over," he said and with his meager armload of sticks raced off to join the rest of the Fellowship.  If the Dwarf was so eager to involve himself in affairs not his own, let him then bring the rest of the wood.

            It wasn't until after the meal, did Pippin recall that Gimli had not answered his question.  Why _had_ the Dwarf gotten him purposefully in trouble?

~*~


	5. Drunken Hobbits

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Fourth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Drunken Hobbits

            "Is this to be a time we turn aside?  Do we do nothing?"

            Gandalf did not at first reply, nor did it seem to the Ranger that he intended to, but at length the wizard finally spoke.  "I do not think it is our place to interfere, my friend . . . These Hobbits must fight their own battles and I fear young Peregrin must face his alone."

            Aragorn frowned, unconvinced.  "None should face a weakness alone, Gandalf, when they have friends to aid him and perhaps ease the way.  Surely there is something we can do.  Pippin . . . he is vulnerable to drink and therefore his cousins forbid it?"  By the events of last night, that is what the Ranger had surmised.

            "And the young Took's parents," Gandalf affirmed with a slight nod.  He took a puff from his old, weathered pipe and watched in quiet fascination as the smoke rings disappeared on the afternoon breeze.  "I dare say, he gave me quite a fright."

            Aragorn peered at the wizard in mild surprise.  "You, Gandalf?"

            "Hm, yes . . ." Gandalf mused, tapping the stem of his pipe against pursed lips.  "Ten years ago was it?  Yes, for that was the last time I saw Frodo before last year and the young Hobbits--by which I mean Merry, Pippin, and old Fatty Bolger--threw their dear cousin a splendid birthday party."  Gandalf's face crinkled into an uncommon smile as the events of his telling washed over him in delightful memory.  He smiled impishly, not unlike Pippin when he is caught in the midst of mischief.  "Things certainly became lively that night . . . one of Frodo's best . . ."

            Beside him, Aragorn grinned.  He could well imagine young Meriadoc and Peregrin with free-flowing ale.  Indeed, it would have been a sight.  Aragorn looked at the wizard curiously.  "_You_ were there, Gandalf?" the Ranger asked, slightly disbelieving.

            Gandalf blinked, slipping back to the present to glare at in impertinence of the young Ranger.  "And indeed, why not?" the wizard demanded.  "These old bones have had a share of laughs this past Age . . . and to Eru I pray they haven't seen their last."  This last was spoken with wistful longing and Gandalf sighed softly.  "But I do believe He has little say at the moment in the affairs of mortals, preoccupied as he is with other matters."

            Aragorn frowned curiously at this but decided to say naught regarding it.  Instead, he pressed his earlier inquiry.  "And young Peregrin?  How does this pertain to him?"

            "It was that night," the wizard said softly, "that my eyes fully opened to the foolishness of Tooks . . . ."

            _"One too many drinks, don't you think, Pippin my lad?"  Frodo pinched his cousin's cheek and kissed his brow before being pulled away by a pretty Hobbit-lass who wished to dance.  Had Frodo been any less drunk he probably would have refused, but as his mind floated upon the pleasant river of ale he felt no such compunctions and, smiling sheepishly at a winking Merry, left his cousins to their own blissful drunkenness._

_            Meriadoc Brandybuck turned to his nineteen-year-old cousin to watch in quiet amusement as the lad whispered conspiracingly to nobody and nothing._

_            "What are you cooking up over there?" Merry demanded, pulling himself up upon the bench to better study the truant face._

_            Pippin turned to Merry and with an expression holding naught save the utmost respect informed his inquisitive cousin "That it is none of your business, Meriadoc Brandybuck, what goes on in the minds of the intelligent.  Am I to explain everything to you, for if I am I am afraid we shall be here all night."_

_            Merry jerked back, feigning hurt, but a broad grin split his round face almost immediately after.  "And the downside to that?" he wanted to know.  "I don't mind spending the night here.  Do you, Cousin?  I dare say, Frodo's having a marvelous time of it," and privately the young Hobbit thought it good for their older cousin to get out and enjoy the company of females.  Merry worried about Frodo sometimes._

_            Pippin peered blearily at their elder cousin and giggled in pleasure.  "Look at him," he said, "He's taken all the lasses to himself and has not a clue as to what to do with them."  And, indeed, little Peregrin was right, for near the hearth stood their dear cousin Frodo surrounded by every barmaid and lass in _The Ivy Bush_.  Pippin turned accusingly at the grinning Merry.  "You did that, didn't you?"_

_            "Call it a birthday present," Merry said, quite pleased with himself._

_            Pippin laughed as he watched each of the Hobbit maidens kiss a blushing Frodo on the brow, on the nose, on the cheek . . . even upon the lips.  "Poor Cousin Frodo!" he exclaimed, though his voice betrayed his words._

_            "Poor Frodo?" Merry echoed.  "Indeed, not!  I would give anything to be in his place."_

_            "Well, wouldn't we all.  But you know how he gets.  You'll get quite the tongue-lashing on the morrow, Merry, when he learns of your scheme and is sober enough to remember it.  He'll not leave Bag End for weeks!  You know this."  But for all his harsh words, Pippin was proud of Merry and glad that Frodo was 'mingling.'  He could be such a hermit at times!_

_            "Look, Merry," Pippin pointed out suddenly and Merry turned to spy Estella Bolger approach Frodo and kiss him on the cheek.  She laughed lightly as Frodo blushed then hugged him tightly.  Frodo whispered something in her ear and they both glanced at the table with the cousins.  Estella smiled prettily at Merry._

_            Pippin nudged him.  "That'd be your cue, Cousin."  Merry grinned and bounded (not without a stumble) from the table.  Pippin smiled cheekily after him and absently took a gulp of his ale._

_            "Mind your drink there, Master Peregrin."  Pippin waved Old Noakes the barkeep away.  "Alright, young master, but if you make a fool of yourself don't blame me, ya here?"_

_            Pippin grinned.  "Me, Old One?  Have I ever made a fool of myself?"_

_            Old Noakes laughed.  "Aye, you have, lad, but 'tisn't my place to say so.  But I suppose I ought, should you be callin' me 'Old One.'  I ain't so much older than your father."  Now this was a straight-up lie and both the old Hobbit and the young Hobbit knew it.  "If you should name one such," and here he gestured toward the door, "Name that there wizard, for he, I dare say, has seen years beyond the reckoning of us poor Shire folk, Eru help the dear man."_

_            Pippin glanced with little enthusiasm toward the door, having lost the train of the old Hobbit's words and, not fully comprehending what he spoke of, started in amazement at the sight of Gandalf the Grey.  "Gandalf?" Pippin choked, nearly losing the hold on his mug of ale._

_            "Steady on, lad," Old Noakes caught the mug and saved himself a pretty mess.  The young Hobbit did not notice._

_            Near the hearth and in the midst of a congregation of pretty lasses, there came a pleased gasp of "Gandalf!" and before the old wizard knew what was what Frodo ran across the way and launched himself into the arms of the old wizard, much to the amusement of the inn's occupants.  Frodo, beyond the realm of cares, laughed gaily._

_            "It's so good to see you, my friend," Frodo cried, uncommonly loud with drunkenness.  He grinned and pulled away from the wizard.  "You have come just in time to celebrate my birthday."_

_            Gandalf straightened, noting with pleasure that the inn was large enough to easily accommodate his tall frame, and peered down at the Hobbit with eyes that twinkled in pleasure.  "As was my intention.  Happy fortieth birthday, Frodo-lad."  He peered around at the assembled Hobbits, finding most (as was only common at a well-respected gentlehobbit's birthday) well and drunk.  "Indeed," he said with an amused smile, "It seems to be a merry one."_

_            Frodo smiled at his friend and reached up to grasp his old weathered hand in his own soft, youthful on.  "Come, my friend, let us talk.  It's been awhile--a year-and-a-half?  Not much has happened here in the Shire since you last left but certainly you have tales to tell.  Come," he began dragging the wizard to a nearby table, "Tell me of your travels.  The lands.  The people.  Have you seen dear old Bilbo, or at least heard word of him?  I haven't received a single letter from him.  But then, I had never really expected to.  Probably off hunting treasure with his Dwarf-friends as he had always dreamed of doing again."_

_            Gandalf chuckled.  "Indeed, your not so far from the truth," the wizard said, resisting Frodo's pull. _

_            Frodo turned, his eyes alighted with excitement.  "So you have heard word of him!  Tell me, Gandalf, oh, tell me!  I must know.  Is he well?  Has he asked about me?  Could you give him a letter for me if I wrote one up--"_

_            Gandalf had come to a complete halt and refused to be dragged forward.  His eyes crinkled in quiet laughter and a happiness that he had not felt since last he left the Shire sparked brightly in his dark eyes.  "Calm yourself, my friend," he said fondly.  "We have time aplenty to talk and then I will tell you all I know.  But--" and here he held up a wizened finger and it seemed then Frodo realized his tuggings had ceased to be affective.  He stopped pulling but did not release Gandalf's hand.  "It is your birthday, Frodo, and I would see you enjoy it to the fullest.  Do not let me infringe upon your merriment."_

_            Frodo's eyes widened and he shook his head emphatically.  "Indeed, no, Gandalf!  You have made it all the merrier.  Come, let you sit and rest and have some ale."_

_            At that moment, Merry appeared from beneath Gandalf's left elbow, a mug of ale grasped in each fist.  He held one up to Gandalf.  "Here you are, sir," he said politely, slightly intimidated by the imposing figure of the wizard._

_            Gandalf reached down and took the mug, allowing the young Hobbit a kind smile.  "My thanks, young Meriadoc.  If you--"_

_            Above the mild ruckus of conversation throughout the _The Ivy Bush_, a muffled _crash!_ came to the sharp ears of the wizard and he looked curiously to the back of the inn._

_            "Mr. Frodo!" came a panicked voice and Gandalf saw it was Old Noakes of Bywater.  "Mr. Frodo lad, come quick, 'tis Master Pippin!"  Merry choked on the ale he had been sucking contently on and glanced up sharply.  He dropped the mug and he and Frodo ran to the shadowed corner of the inn.  Gandalf, being much larger than the slight Hobbits, came slower for all the tables and chairs he was forced to go around.  _

_            By the time he got there both of the cousins, the barkeeper, a barmaid, and several Hobbit lasses, crouched worriedly over a comatose Pippin._

_            "What's wrong with him," Merry asked, his voice laced with confusion and fear.  He shook his younger cousin but there was no response._

_            "Pippin," Frodo tried.  "Pippin-lad, can you hear me?"_

_            "I told him, Mr. Frodo," Old Noakes said mournfully.  "I did tell him."_

_            Frodo looked at the old Hobbit sharply.  "Told him what?" _

_            "That he ought to ease up," he explained.  "On the drink, that is.  He's slight of frame and shouldn't consume so much ale, especially as young as he is.  I did tell him."_

_            Frodo turned back to Pippin, looking him over worriedly.  'Dotard,' he hissed to himself, 'I should have watched him more closely.'  He hadn't thought Pippin was overdoing it, indeed he thought himself far more drunk than either his two cousins.  'I might well be,' he realized suddenly, 'but, too, am I older and been drinking longer.'_

_            He turned to Gandalf.  "Is he alright?  I--I've never seen this.  Have you?"_

_            Gandalf bent to better examine young Peregrin and the other Hobbits stepped back a pace to give him room._

_            "I haven't," whispered Merry, horrified, not being able to take his eyes from his deathly still cousin._

_            Gandalf checked the Took's pulse and breathing._

            "I have," said the barmaid and everyone save the wizard, who was intent upon examining Pippin, looked at her.  "Once."  She turned to Old Noakes.  "Don't you remember?  Three seasons ago, was it?  Ol' Andwise Roper came over from Tighfield."

_            "Ah, yes," Old Noakes nodded.  "I remember him.  He lost his wife and came to visit his brother in Hobbiton.  The same happened to him."_

_            "And?" Merry demanded desperately of the old Hobbit._

_            Noakes smiled and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "He was hail and fit the following morning, though I dare say he had quite the headache."_

_            Merry looked down at his pale cousin and frowned.  'If he comes out of this hail and fit,' he thought angrily, desperately, 'I'll certainly give the lad a headache.'_

_            Gandalf sighed quietly and looked around himself at all the worried Hobbits.  "Well, our young Took shall not die, I am certain . . . but," he scooped the unconscious Hobbit in his arms and stood.  "I do suggest we get him home.  Your home, Frodo, for that is the closest, is it not?"_

_            Frodo nodded.  "Yes, Gandalf."_

_            "Come, then," the wizard said.  "Let us go."  And he took the small Hobbit from the _The Ivy Bush_, Frodo and Merry following quickly after._

_            Those left at the inn, particularly Old Noakes and Estella Bolger and several others of close kin to the parted Hobbits, looked after their friends in mingled fear and apprehension.  Not one had heart enough left in them to drink again that night._

~*~

A/N:  I wanted to thank you all—Ish, Hai, Xena—for your reviews.  It's most encouraging and makes my telling more enjoyable.


	6. The Will of Eru

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Fifth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

The Will of Eru

            Frodo started awake from a light sleep.  His breath came to him harshly and only in great gulps, and his heart drummed painfully in his chest.  He sat up and looked around.  Night laid heavy upon the Fellowship and none were awake save he and the one on watch.  The Elf Legolas, Frodo saw, but he turned away and gazed out into the darkness, beyond their small circle of light.

            He took deep breaths, trying to calm his heart and remember what had caused the fear to rush in and engulf his entire being.  No matter his effort he could not recall and he reached up--out of habit--to make certain the One Ring rested securely about his neck.  

            It wasn't there.

            Frodo did a double take, his fingers searching and prodding for the bulge in his shirt but he found none.  Panicked, he looked down to the ground, thinking perhaps the chain had broke in his sleep and laid discarded somewhere in the fallen needles and leaves of the forest floor.  His mind fell upon his hand, which was fisted and a sudden coldness crept through his veins, turning blood to ice.  Slowly, and with unnatural difficulty, he pried the fist open and found It nestled comfortably--innocently--in his palm.

            With a cry of disgust, Frodo cast the Ring from him and clutched his defiled hand to his chest.  He shook violently, praying to whoever would listen that the One had no hold on him.  That he was _not_ . . . was not taken by it . . . 

            Frodo shivered.  He opened his eyes and looked timidly at the discarded Ring not three yards away.  It glinted enticingly in the fire's glow and the small Hobbit suddenly felt lacking, as though a part of him had been torn out and cast aside, for it was unwanted . . . but needed.

            Frodo leapt to his feet and ran to the It, scooped It up gently and clasped It protectively to his chest as a mother might cradle her babe.

            "Frodo," came the soft voice of Legolas the Elf.  "Frodo, are you well?"

            Frodo jumped and turned, his cloak billowing out and hiding his clenched fist, as though it wished to aid its master in hiding his dark secret.  The Hobbit saw the Elf seated upon a tall rock several yards from the most outer member of the sleeping Fellowship.  Frodo could hardly see his face, for the shadows engulfed him completely.

            "I heard you cry out," Legolas explained.

            "C-cry out?" Frodo asked weakly.  Had the Elf seen him throw the Ring and then retrieve It?

            "Yes."  The Elf leaned forward and the small fire, in the midst of the Fellowship, caught his sharp features and Frodo could see they were etched with worry.  "When first you awoke."

            So he had seen.  "Legolas, I--"

            The Elf held up a hand, stopping the Ring-bearer from proceeding, and shook his head.  "Sh, Frodo.  You have no obligation to explain matters to me."  The halfling made as if to protest but Legolas continued and Frodo fell silent.  "I will not lie to you, Ringbearer.  I did indeed see you cast the Ring aside and I did . . ." he hesitated.  "I did see."

            Frodo bowed his head shamefully and tears suddenly gathered in his eyes.  He sniffed weakly, hoping the Elf would not detect his weeping, and heard the Elf rise from his seat upon the rock and come to stand before him.

            _So very small_, the Elf thought mournfully.  _So much like a child.  _He knelt before the halfling.  "You are strong, Frodo," Legolas said and the Hobbit peered up at him.  "So much stronger than you know . . . . So much stronger than any here."  He swept an arm back to encompass the Fellowship as a whole, including himself.  "None is more suited to the task that you now face.  Even the Lord of Imladris could not dispute thus."

            A single tear slid down the length of Frodo's pale cheek as his eyes fell over each of the Walkers, lastly upon Aragorn and Gandalf.  His gaze returned to the Elf's.  "I am of such little import, Legolas," he said desperately, his words so soft that the Elf almost could not hear them.  "Since we set out from Rivendell I have wondered at this quest.  Not what it is about, but . . . but why _I _offered to accept . . . accept _It_."  Within the folds of his cloak, Frodo grasped the Ring tightly, though, what he wanted to do above ought else was to throw It from his person.  But his fingers would not loosen nor relax their grip.

            Legolas peered hard at the Hobbit but not in an unkindly manner.  His words, too, came soft but there was a strength to them, one in which the Elf-prince hoped the Hobbit could latch on to.  "You took this task upon yourself, my friend.  _You_ alone spoke."

            "But _why_?"

            The Elf did not know.  Ilúvatar alone knew for certain why one small Hobbit had been called upon to shoulder a burden that greater Men would have collapsed beneath.  Certainly, Legolas of Mirkwood did not understand it, but even immortals are not meant to know the will of Eru.  The Elf's face softened and he spoke the only wisdom that he knew in his heart to be true:  "Because you spoke."

            Frodo looked hard at the Elf, somewhat surprised at this response, though too his heart was lifted by it.  Legolas wiped the tears from the Hobbit's cheek and smiled down at him kindly.  "Come, Ringbearer.  Your chain is in need of repair, is it not?"

            Frodo produced the silver chain still clinging desperately to the Ring, though it hung limp and was, as the Elf had pointed out, in need of repair.  It had snapped in half.

            The Hobbit frowned down at it, unnerved by the fact that he had ripped it from his neck in his sleep, for that is what he had done.  Absently, his left hand felt at his neck and he winced in pain.  There was a jagged red burn at the back of his neck.

            "Here," the Elf offered.  "Let me take a look."  He pushed the Hobbit's curls aside and studied the fire-red line.  "A minor wound," he stated at last, falling back on his haunches to look into the halfling's exhausted gaze.  "But nevertheless a sore one."  Reluctantly, he straightened to his full height and stepped back a pace.  " Come, join me, and by the light of the fire and we will mend both broken chain and broken flesh at one and the same time."

~*~


	7. Gandalf's Lady

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Sixth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Gandalf's Lady

            "We must leave before first light," Gandalf told the Man.  "Will you wake the others?"

            Boromir gave a grunt of consent and rose to do the wizard's bidding.  He passed through the Fellowship swiftly, shaking one, whispering gruffly to another, until all were awake.  He then proceeded to break camp and, passing by the drowsy Hobbits, was somewhat taken aback by the eerie silence that had settled among the four.  

            Ever cheerful and optimistic, the halflings would usually gather their gear with light conversation and the occasional insult or jest thrown back and forth by the two youngest, though once and a while Samwise would join, which always caused his master to smile and shake his head in amusement.

            This predawn morning, however, was completely devout of laughter and was unusually drear.  Boromir, who had gotten used to the Hobbits' antics, suddenly found himself missing the lightness of air given off by their cheerful demeanors.

            He was not the only one to notice the change and the Man of Gondor shared a moment with Aragorn, who hovered just beyond the Hobbits' circle of tension.  The Ranger watched young Peregrin, who was going to great lengths to avoid his kinsmen, and frowned darkly.  He glanced swiftly at Gandalf and muttered unintelligibly under his breath.  Boromir saw this but did not comment.

            Gandalf stepped down from the small rise he had stood upon searching out the landscape with sharp eyes, and came to join the Fellowship.  "Is all in order?" he asked, looking at each in turn and finding everything packed, the fire doused, and any indicator that they had ever been gone, Gandalf nodded approvingly.  "Good.  Let us go, then."

            The Fellowship walked in a line, something they had slowly started to do since their departure from Rivendell.  Gandalf ever maintained his position at the fore, as everyone was content with the Wizard's knowledge of the lay of the land.  The four Hobbits shuffled someplace in the middle, ever changing--Sam usually in the rear leading Bill the pony, Frodo in the fore, and the two youngest never keeping any one position but drifting anywhere their furry feet would take them.  Gimli the Dwarf walked not far behind the Hobbits, sometimes passing the smallest.  Whenever this happened, the Dwarf would force his pace to slow, drifting back to walk behind the Hobbits so that he might watch them, especially the youngest.  The two Humans, Aragorn and Boromir kept to the rear, keeping a close eye on the Ring-bearer and covering their tracks as best they could while on the move.  Legolas, ever the free spirit, sprinted from fore to rear whenever he took a mind to, speaking softly with Gandalf, running ahead to scout, falling far behind to make certain they weren't being followed.  The Elf knew they were just beyond Lord Elrond's domain but one could never be too careful, especially in times of darkness such as these.

            It was the day following the Hobbits' quarrel that Gandalf the Grey finally wavered in his decision about letting young Peregrin face his troubles alone.  His eyes would often stray to the young one, his brow creased in concern, for Gandalf had many hours before spied the wee halfling gazing fondly after Gimli's wineskin.  It was then the Wizard called the Hobbit over.

            "Yes, Gandalf?" Peregrin inquired softly, a hint of guilt in his voice.

            The Wizard did not at first answer nor did he intend to for many long moments.  He was wondering how he should brooch the subject without offending the young Hobbit, for Gandalf knew how sensitive Pippin could be.  Finally, he spoke:

            "The days have been bright and crisp and trouble seems far afield."  His tone was unnaturally light, much the same as it had been back in the Shire as the young Took had always known him.

            Pippin nodded slowly.  "Indeed, it is, Gandalf."

            "And the nights . . ." Gandalf paused momentarily, glancing down at the Hobbit.

            Pippin caught his piercing gaze.  "Much the same?" he ventured weakly.

            Gandalf frowned.  "Is it?  When the Sun vanishes to make way for her love does the Moon banish the fears that the Lady may?  I think not.  For the Master of the Night has not a comforting presence.  He is oftimes cold and hard, though he may prove his worth in other ways.  Our fears, our weaknesses may haunt us in the night when She has left our side."  Gandalf looked to the heavens and gazed upon the light fondly and with a longing that hinted at a time and place long forgotten.

            Pippin, without thinking, followed the Wizard's gaze to the burning ball of flame and gave a sharp cry of pain.  He blinked and turned aside, both thinking himself a fool and marveling at the Wizard, for he looked steadily at the Sun, unwincing.  Gandalf's gaze faltered at the Hobbit's cry and he smiled, unconsciously pleased that his beard hid his mirth from Pippin.

            "She is a blessing bestowed upon mortals by a hand more delicate than the beautiful Lúthien Tinúviel," he explained softly.  Pippin blinked his eyes rapidly, tears streaming down his smooth cheeks, and looked up at Gandalf, for the tone in his voice--it was filled with remembrance and something else that no Hobbit on Middle-earth could possibly understand.  Gandalf chuckled at the Hobbit's teary eyes.  "She is far too radiant for mortal eyes to appreciate.  Besides, she is a modest thing."

            Pippin frowned, confused, and almost looked to the Sun again, though he caught himself at the last.  "Modest, the Sun?  But it is not a person, Gandalf!" he protested.

            The Wizard's eyes sparkled mischievously.  "Ah, but that is what She wants you to think."

            Peregrin stared at Gandalf wide-eyed.  He marveled at this and longed to raise his eyes to the heavens once again, but he could barely peer at the Wizard through the tears in his eyes let alone that object that had first caused him pain.

            As the young Took thought over these strange and mysterious words of the old wizard, Gandalf's eyes laughed and he let the silence encompass the two for a time.  His soul however was saddened for the inner pain and confusion he could sense from the young halfling and the spark of pleasure died from his deep gaze.

            He spoke finally, returning to that which he had commented upon earlier.  "And the nights, young Peregrin?  How do those hold?"

            Pippin came slowly from his thoughts, curiosity mingling with his youthfulness and setting aflame fantasies that before he had never even considered.  What would Merry say?  Certainly, he wouldn't--              

            Like a slap in the mouth Pippin recalled that he was not speaking to his cousin and the excitement that had been building in the pit of his stomach suddenly turned sour.

            "What was that, Gandalf?" he asked, coming back to the present.  His voice was thick with an agonized distaste--one in which he did not like but, taken and swallowed, he was now forced to stomach.

            "There are fears in the night," the Wizard repeated patiently, "That can come upon us merely because we are vulnerable.  Orcs traverse the lands and if we are caught unawares then we must fight.  But without a sword for protection what does one do?"

            Pippin was slightly confused at the Wizards words, only because he had the disquieting feeling that Orcs were not the issue at hand.  "Throw rocks?" Pippin suggested.  Gandalf glanced at him sharply, detecting an attempt at humor but saw from the halfling's sincere gaze that Pippin had been quite serious.

            Gandalf nodded, slowly, seeing the logic behind this.  "We do not stand and allow the Orc to kill us but we fight instead, even if we are devout of a sincere weapon."

             "Gandalf, I--" Pippin interrupted, finding that none of this made the slightest of sense.  He did not think the wizard was giving him battle tactics--at least, in the sense it seemed.  It was something else . . .

            Gandalf stopped his measured tread south and peered down at the Hobbit, his eyes stern.  "In times of great danger or need one oftimes finds that the greatest weapon against evil is not steel--"

            Pippin nodded slowly, understanding this at the very least.  "Stone," he said.  He had told Boromir the very first day he had met the Man that a rock thrown oftimes fells an opponent swifter and cleaner than a sword may.  The Man had laughed and ruffled the Hobbit's curls.  Pippin had glared after him but Boromir had taken no notice.

            Gandalf knelt before the halfling, his face somber.  "Nay, my small Took.  Not stone, steel, nor ought else made of mortal or immortal hands."  He took hold of Pippin, his hands clasping the halfling's arms in a comforting grip.  Pippin had the sudden urge to curl into the larger man's embrace, wanting to be held and comforted as his cousin's once had when he was younger.  Shaking the thought angrily aside, he reprimanding himself for being a child.  He was a respectable member of a group that was out to save the world.  He would not act like a spoiled babe newly weaned.

            "What then, Gandalf?" the Hobbit asked, his voice suddenly cold and distant.  The Wizard did not seem to note this sudden change, this hardness to Pippin's usual light demeanor, but instead looked past him to the marching Fellowship.  Pippin followed his gaze—and it fell upon Frodo, who suddenly found his foot entangled in a tree root and fell to his knees in the dirt.  Merry stopped and helped his cousin to his feet, making some comment, and the two laughed lightly--the first pleasurable sound the Fellowship had encountered that day.

            Pippin looked at the Wizard.  "A weapon beyond that of steel or stone," Gandalf repeated.  The Hobbit shook his head, silent, still not understanding.  The old man pointed a gnarled finger, pressing it firmly to the halfling's chest.  "The Orcs are upon you . . . What will you do, Peregrin Took?  Would you allow them to overtake you?"

            With out thinking the Hobbit shook his head and said defiantly, "Of course not."

            Gandalf smiled grimly.  "Of course not . . ." he repeated softly.  "You will fight."  Pippin nodded firmly.  Though the old man's words were complicated and full of many things the young halfling did not understand, Pippin now thought he had figured out the riddle.  Gandalf spoke of Pippin's own inner turmoil, a weakness he had had for a very long time.  He glanced back at his cousins and his resolve hardened.

            "I will fight," he said, turning back to face the wizard, his eyes flashing.

            "Good," Gandalf said, pleased.  He stood and gazed down at the Hobbit, a hint of pride in his deep-set eyes.  "And your weapon . . . ?" he wanted to know.

            "Frodo and Merry," Pippin said.  "My cousins."

            Gandalf nodded.  "You will speak to them, then?"

            Pippin's resolve wavered slightly and the wizard saw it in his eyes.  "Peregrin," Gandalf said sternly.

            "I-I will," Pippin managed.  "I will speak with them."

            "When?" the Wizard demanded.

            "Tonight," he assured him.  "After the Sun sets and the Moon rises.  I will speak with them, then."

            Gandalf peered at him hard, then nodded, satisfied.

~*~


	8. The Calling

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Seventh Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

The Calling

            Peregrin Took gazed at the wineskin hungrily.  No matter what he thought about, no matter what he looked upon, always his eyes and mind returned to that beautiful, alluring 'skin upon the Dwarf's belt.  He watched in fascination as the liquid within caused it to dance and he fancied he could hear the golden drink singing sweet promises to him.  In the midst of these fantasies, he jerked to the present and glanced about guiltily, his gaze oftimes looking to the wizard.  None noticed.

            Whenever the Dwarf would drift back to take a position behind the Hobbit, Pippin was torn between relief and desperation.  Relief because he could no longer see the teasing wineskin and desperation from the very same fact.  His mouth was annoyingly dry and no matter how often he took his own waterskin and drenched his throat with cool water it made no difference.  He felt that he was ever berating himself for dreaming of taking just one more sip of the burning liquid.  Just one more, surely it wouldn't hurt.  He hadn't had a single draught of liquor--not counting the other day--since they set out from Rivendell more than six days ago.  Surely he was deserving.

            And then the wizard's words would come back to him:  _"The Orcs are upon you . . . What will you do, Peregrin Took?"_

            His own cry of defiant conviction hardened his resolve:  _"I will fight!"_

"I will," he told himself, turning away from the Dwarf.  He looked to the heavens, resorting to stare at the glaring sun instead of the weakness that had held him captive for so long.  His eyes burned but he did not look away.  _Gandalf says you are a comfort and he is very wise.  Won't you help me?  _But the young Took did not feel comforted and as the Sun began its decent in the West, Gandalf called a halt and the Fellowship gratefully prepared a late mid-day meal.  

            Pippin, his eyes burning and filled with bright spots, ran into Bill's flanks and rebounding, tripped over a rock and fell painfully on his backside.  He groaned pitifully and considered telling Gandalf what he thought of his Lady.

            A strong hand reached down and helped the disorientated Hobbit to his feet.  "Careful there, Master Hobbit," came the Dwarf's rumbling voice.  "Are you alright?"

            Pippin reached out his hands to steady himself and accidentally brushed up against Gimli's wineskin.  He blinked several times and as the darkness slowly faded he saw the concerned visage of a Dwarf.  "Yes, Gimli, thank you," Pippin said, somewhat breathless and entirely embarrassed.  "Yes, I am fine . . ." his words trailed off as his gaze--now sharp with hunger--fell upon Durin's Bane.

            Gimli looked at him in concern.  "Are you certain?" 

            Pippin blinked.  "Uh, yes, most assuredly."  He grinned and his cheeks flushed a dusty pink.  "Merry has oftimes told me I ought to mind my sights to the fore and not to the heavens."

            Gimli chuckled.  "Find the sky is better company than what lies beneath your feet?  My brethren and I would call that a wistful heart.  Dreams and fancies float upon the clouds whereas reality his solid beneath our feet."  He thumped his walking ax twice upon the hard-packed forest floor.  "Mind the ground, young Hobbit, for otherwise it can catch you unawares and you'll find your face planted in it . . . without a friend to lift you back to your feet."

            Pippin's grin broadened, though, too, his brow furrowed.  "An interesting theory, my good Dwarf, and one in which I think I'll take to heart."  His eyes drifted distractingly toward the wineskin but he hurriedly forced his gaze aside.  "It is sound advice."

            Gimli nodded, pleased.  "Much is sound among the Dwarfs, whether 'tis advice or honor or friendship.  We are fierce warriors but fiercer friends as well . . ."  Gimli looked down at the Hobbit pointedly and Pip, catching the Dwarf's piercing gaze, looked down with sudden interest at his furry feet.  _My,_ he thought in some surprise, studying his toes, _but I _do_ need a bath._

            A heavy gloved hand rested itself upon the Hobbit's small shoulder.  Pippin looked up to find the Dwarf looking at him earnestly.  "I came to apologize, Peregrin Took, for the trouble I caused you the other night.  I do not, however, apologize for making your struggle known to your cousins.  I have seen this sickness you face too often among my kin and many I have loved cannot fight it.  It is a terrible foe and I would not see . . ." his voice trailed off even as his mind recalled memories he had long ago banished.  Still, they haunted him.  "I would not see you face this alone," he said softly, as if to someone far away in another time.  

            "Sickness?"  Gimli came back with a start, looked down at the small halfling.  "I know not of what you speak," he said, taking a step backwards, his eyes flickering down to the wineskin.  "And besides," he said, forcing his gaze away from the temptation.  "I am not alone.  I have Merry, and Frodo that I might confide in . . ."  His eyes were sincere and completely devout of guilt. 

            Gimli nodded, barely withholding a sigh of relief.  "Yes," he said.  "You have your cousins."  He glanced past the youngest Hobbit and spied the three other halflings half-heartedly going about their chores--Sam was aiding Boromir and Legolas at their attempts at Luncheon; Merry was picking through his pack, ever so often rubbing at his eyes tiredly; and Frodo was offering his own services for preparation of the meal but got shooed away by both Boromir and Sam (though Man and Hobbit tried telling Legolas off, pointedly assuring the Elf that they had everything under control but he would have none of that and remained by their sides offering his help no matter the two's protesting), and so Frodo wandered aimlessly about until he sat down by Aragorn who was coaxing a small fire to life.

            Gimli's gaze returned to Pippin and found the halfling was smiling.  "You are all so very concerned about me," he said, "but I believe it is not I that is in trouble.  Indeed, I am well.  Is it not my cousin that we ought be concerned with?  Is this not the Fellowship of the _Ring_?  Frodo _is_ the Ringbearer, is he not?"

            "Aye," the Dwarf had to agree.  "But what was that--what was that you said before the Ring?"

            Pippin frowned.  "Fellowship?"

            Gimli smiled and nodded.  "The Fellowship.  If we ourselves cannot hold true to the Ring what good are we?  We mustn't forget--the Ring is our main concern but without our aid, the aid of the _entire _Fellowship, then this Quest will come to ruin.  Do not underestimate yourself, Peregrin Took, for the Wise chose you and they are not called thus lightly.  Do not hurt that which you are a part of . . . nor belittle your involvement in this tale."

            Pippin's gaze faltered and he wondered at all these Big Folk.  Why must they concern themselves with his affairs and speak upon matters that had naught to do with him?  They did not understand him, but they spoke as if they did.  Slowly, Pippin nodded, for the Dwarf looked at him earnestly and the halfling would please him.  "I will think on this, Gimli . . . and thank you."

            "We are a Fellowship, dear Hobbit," the Dwarf said gruffly, "And though some of us are very different--" and here the Dwarf's gaze fell upon Legolas sitting beside the Man and poking fun at his food, "—we must put aside such things, for our world may very well depend upon it.  I am willing to do so, but in return you too must have faith in your fellows.  Do you understand, Pippin?"

            Pippin thought about this, though it was very difficult as his mind often drifted to that which hung from the Dwarf's belt.  Finally, the halfling nodded.  "I understand, Gimli."  He smiled at the Dwarf's concern and all other tensions between the two were immediately forgiven.  "Do not fear for me, for I _am_ well.  It would do good for people to trust _me_ once in a while."  And here the look he gave the Dwarf was one of hurt and filled with accusation.

            The Dwarf thought on these words for but a moment and though he was reluctant to do so he nodded.  "Very well, Master Hobbit, I _trust_ to your judgment.  If you say you are well then indeed you are."  Pippin smiled, both pleased and relieved.  "But," the Dwarf continued, "I will be here, should you need me."

            Pippin was quite pleased with his and Gimli's talk and perhaps the pleasure might have lasted longer had the Dwarf not removed his pack to take care of some personal business beyond the ring of the Fellowship.  It was not Gimli's pack in particular that held the Hobbit's attention but that which lied beside it, looking very lonely and without a suitable friend—the Dwarf's wineskin.

            Pippin's hands began to shake.

~*~


	9. Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Eighth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Out of Sight, Out of Mind 

            Frodo's hand was trembling.  He clutched it to his side, hiding it beneath his cloak so that Aragorn would not see.

            "--Hollin in four days, if we pick up the pace," Aragorn was saying, giving a brief description of the beginning of their journey.  Frodo of course had heard it all before when they were mapping out their route in Rivendell but he asked again regardless, more for the fact that he was comforted by Aragorn's voice and presence than ought else.

            "Picking up our pace, you say?  Certainly not," Frodo hardly managed to stifle a yawn.  He couldn't imagine going faster than they were.  He felt as if he could fall asleep right now . . . but then, he'd have to face his dreams--his nightmares--alone.  Frodo barely suppressed a shudder.  

            "Do not fear, my good Hobbit," the Ranger assured him, misinterpreting the shiver.  Placing several branches upon the small crackling fire, Aragorn glanced over to see how Boromir and Sam were doing with meal preparations.  He noted in amusement that Legolas had grown tired of their company and now turned to Gandalf to speak of the road ahead, much as he and Frodo were doing.  "I doubt very much that Gandalf would comply."

            "You think we travel too slow?" Frodo asked, curious.

            "I think the Shadow moves too fast," Aragorn said softly, his words filled with a sorrow that frightened Frodo.  It sounded very much like defeat in the Ranger's voice.

            "Indeed?" the Hobbit asked and he received a tired nod.

            "I fear so, Frodo.  I do not think our departure from Rivendell has gone entirely unnoticed."

            "Then our pace _must_ quicken," the Hobbit said suddenly, his voice firm.  "Have you spoken of this to Gandalf?"

            "He knows," the Ranger words were barely audible.  

            "But he will not--?" Frodo began, confused.  If danger was near, as Aragorn so feared, then surely Gandalf would--

            The Ranger shook his head.  "He will not."

            "Then we are not in as much danger as you fear," Frodo conceded, and reached up to grasp the chain about his neck.  He stroked It absently, then, realizing what he was doing, tore his hand away with hardly a suppressed cry.  He wanted to tear the thing from about his neck . . . but he dared not.

            Aragorn paused in feeding the fire to peer over at the Hobbit.  "You have much faith in the wizard."

            "He is my friend," Frodo said simply and Aragorn started in surprise.  He had expected the Hobbit to say something more along the lines of "he is Wise" and Aragorn wouldn't have disputed such.  But "he is my friend"?  For some reason, this struck the Ranger as odd and his hard face relaxed into a rare, amused smile.

            "Indeed he is," Aragorn said.  He looked over at the wizard, who was speaking gruffly with the Elf, his hands flailing about in a haphazard illustration of that of which he spoke.  "And a very trustworthy one at that.  Thank you, Frodo." 

            Frodo clutched his hands tightly together but made a show of paying very close attention to the Ranger's words.  "For what?" he asked.

            "For easing my mind.  I have been thinking on much of late—too much—and have forgotten something that should have remained steadfast in my heart.  Thank you for reminding me of this simple truth and banishing my worries."

            Frodo smiled kindly.  "Merry says I'm good at causing worry.  For silly reasons, mostly," the Hobbit assured the Ranger hurriedly as he frowned slightly, "but perhaps I am good for other things, too."

            Aragorn smiled and nodded.  "Indeed so.  I shall have a talk with your cousin and set him straight if you like."

            Frodo laughed.  "I would like that very much," he said.  "Perhaps then he will let me be in peace and stop fretting.  And perhaps after you get through with Merry you could speak to Sam.  I'm not too certain I know which is worse!"

            "Very well," Aragorn said with a light chuckle.  "I will speak with both of them.  And for good measure, I will set the youngest straight, too."

            At the mention of Pippin, Frodo's eyes dimmed and the laughter on his lips vanished.  "Oh, you needn't worry about him.  He helps me fend them off," but the mirth in his voice was gone and he sat very still, gazing into the fire that now danced merrily thanks to Aragorn's talented hands.

            The Ranger watched Frodo for a moment.  "Is everything well with Peregrin, Frodo?" he asked finally, not wanting to get involved with business not his own but genuinely concerned for the headstrong Took.

            Frodo looked up into the Ranger's dark eyes and seemed to consider something.  Just as his mind seemed made up, Boromir and Sam came over with the uncooked food and Frodo, seeing this, hesitated and let his gaze drop once again.

            "Boromir and I have prepared something special for Luncheon today, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, quite proud.  It seemed Legolas had indeed come in handy, for there the Hobbit and Man had three rabbits.  Sam had also scrounged up several herbs and had two of the remaining four potatoes he had left Rivendell with.

            "It isn't much," Boromir added, seeing Frodo's disinterested gaze.  "But it is better than we have had for a time."

            "It will do quite well," Aragorn said, sitting himself on a log not far from the fire.  "And the blaze is all yours.  Do with it what you will."

            Gimli came over then, to peer with interest at the uncooked food.  Boromir and Sam knelt, gathering their cooking gear and began secondary preparations for the meal.  The Dwarf stood there for a moment longer, then squatted down and Man, Dwarf, and Hobbit went about the dutiful chore of cooking.

            Frodo stood suddenly and was about to go find a solitary corner where he might think undisturbed when Merry came over and grasped his cousin by the arm.

            "Frodo?" he said, his eyes falling momentarily on the stew then on Sam and the others. 

            "What is it, Merry?" Frodo asked, irritated with his cousin though he could not say why.  _I am tired,_ he told himself, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, as his right one had slowly began to creep toward the golden band about his silver chain.

            Merry pulled his cousin aside.  "Have you seen Pippin?" 

            Aragorn, ever alert, caught the halfling's words and peered about sharply.  Peregrin was nowhere to be seen and a moment later the Ranger realized something else was amiss.  "Where's the Dwarf's wineskin," Aragorn hissed, rising to his feet. 

~*~


	10. Lost, Forgotten, or Just Misplaced

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Ninth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Lost, Forgotten, or Just Misplaced

            "May the Orcs take me . . ." Peregrin Took said, quite pleased with himself, though, more with the 'skin in his hand.  He swallowed long and deep from it and, shivering, sighed in blissful delight.  He peered up at the sky and held the wineskin high over his head in a salute to Gandalf's Lady.  "And may they take you, too."  He grinned an impish grin, drank deeply, and let the warmth of the drink encompass him completely.  

            How he had missed it!  Elvish wine--pah!  Elves had not the taste for drink.  He giggled suddenly, as he remembered Legolas' attempt at Durin's Bane.  He had to admit, they were great fun, Elves.

            Pippin peered about the wooded land in which he had escaped and wiggled more securely against the tree's thick trunk.  He was fifteen feet above the ground, nestled comfortably on a thick branch staring in fixed fascination and delight at the Dwarf's wineskin, the cause of all his troubles.  Suddenly, it reminded him of the harsh words Merry had thrown at him and the look of disappointment in Frodo's eyes and he hated it.  He hated himself, almost, and so he drank and drank, for he knew that he must at some point drink enough to lose all sense of reality and the darkness would come.  That was what he really wanted:  The blessed, forgetful darkness.

            They didn't understand--none of them did.  They had thought it an accident and perhaps to some degree the first time had been.  But after that?  The second time?  The third time?  Even those that his cousins and parents weren't aware of?  Peregrin giggled.  No, after that first taste he had craved the darkness.  He wanted it to swallow him up and each time he prayed it would never let go.  And why should it?  

Pippin took another deep gulp.  'I have lost those most important to me.'

Merry had long ago grown up, leaving childish games behind to take up the responsibilities that comes to being the heir of Brandy Hall.  Pippin had at first felt sorry for his cousin, for Merry strived so very hard to please his father and to make him proud.  The Took had never understood such things (being the youngest everyone had been proud of him for just, well, _being_) until several years ago when his own father, Paladin, had approached him about his own place as the future Thain.  

            Things went from bad to worse so fast that young Peregrin became lost, and once he found himself again he realized he was in a place he did not want to be.  When he went to Merry for help he found his cousin facing his own troubles and--when once he could tell his cousin anything--found he could not speak his heart to the one he loved so much.  Now frightened and desperate, he turned to Frodo but again found him lacking.  

Since the disappearance of Bilbo Baggins a subtle change had come over his elder cousin.  He was much more secluded, preferring the study to the pub and dissuading visitors to the best of his ability with out appearing rude.  No one save a rare few noticed this change and they knew not what to make of it.  Pippin, lost and alone, remembered a time not so long ago when his troubles had vanished with naught but a mug (nay, several mugs) of ale.

            Peregrin held up the wineskin to peer at it with blurred vision.  'Merry may have forgotten me and Frodo may be lost, but I will ever have you.'Perhaps if his mind had been any less clouded with drink the thought might have seemed somewhat odd to the Hobbit.  But as he was quite drunk at this time he merely stroked the wineskin lovingly, toasted the Sun once again and took such a drink a Dwarf would have marveled at.

            "Peregrin Took, what ever do you think you are doing?"

            Pippin jumped and dropped the wineskin.  He barely registered the _thunk _and cry of indignation below him, as he was too busy trying to maintain his balance.  In the far recesses of his mind he wondered at what on Middle-earth had possessed him to climb a tree to get drunk, but as it was an irrelevant matter he brushed it aside as soon as he was confident he would not topple over.  

His balance restored, he peered down and spied Frodo, Legolas, and Merry.  The irritation upon losing his coveted drink vanished in a flash at seeing his cousins, but most especially the Elf.  

            Pippin giggled, his arms and legs wrapped securely around the branch.  "Well to do, my good Elf," he said merrily, a slight slur easy evidence of his drunkenness.  "How is the morn apposed to the night?  The Lady I see has kissed you--is it to your delight?"  He giggled impishly, pleased with his rhyme.  The Elf glared up at him, wiping the Dwarf's golden liquid from his face in disgust.  

            "That was a poor gesture, young Hobbit," the Elf said in an unnaturally sour tone.  "What are you doing up there and so far from the Company?"

            "Your mirth is ill mannered, Pippin," Frodo called up and Pippin--drunk or no--could hear the anger in his cousin's voice.  "I am ashamed of you're behavior."

            Beside him, Merry had nearly burst into laughter at the Elf's drenched appearance but any signs of merriment vanished at the sight of his drunken cousin up in the tree.  "Peregrin Took, what do you think you are doing?  Have you abandoned all reason?  You _know _that--"

            Merry's words were lost as Pippin suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter, gasping and choking in a fit that nearly threw him out of the tree.  "You really are a sight, Legolas!  Oh, I _do_ wish Gimli were here.  What a delight!"

            "Pippin, stop that!" Frodo called out, anger and then fear choking his words.  "You should not speak to Legolas so."  He turned to the Elf momentarily, apologetic.  "You must forgive him . . ." but his focus could not long be dissuaded.  "You will fall, Pip.  Now just climb on down now, like a good lad."

            "Peregrin Took," Merry said harshly, "If you don't come down here right this minute I, well . . . I will--"

            "Has anyone ever told you, dear cousins," Pippin gasped breathlessly, grinning broadly, "That your words are full of meaningless, childish fantasies.  You are not my mother, dear Frodo, and you, Merry, are _not _my father," Pippin's voice was suddenly very cold.

            Legolas peered down at the Hobbits momentarily, deeming he was no longer needed and softer than a summer's breeze, the Elf vanished back to the Fellowship relaying that the truant Hobbit was indeed found ("And my drink, I see," the Dwarf said with a chuckle, looking at Legolas' damp clothes and hair) and they would be along shortly.

            Pippin laughed a cold, mirthless laugh, drunkenness enflaming his anger.  "What must I do to enjoy myself--sneak away?  For as long as I remember I have done such and for longer still I have had elders breathing down my neck.  What happened to you, Merry?"

            "What happened to _me_?" Merry demanded, incredulous.  "Look at yourself, Cousin.  What happened to me?  I have never seen such a mess as you.  You steal the drink of a dear friend and disobey the words of a dearer cousin?  You put yourself above the Quest; you endanger the lives of others by running off heedlessly, only concerned for what _you _want.  What's happened to _me_, you say?"

            "I am not a child, Merry!" Pippin cried defiantly.  "I am grown.  I am no longer a young lad to be told off when you've the mind, nor do I care what you think.  I'm nearly of age--why won't you see that?"

            "Because you still act like a child," Merry retorted, his eyes glinting with suppressed rage.  "You are a spoiled brat that only thinks of himself.  What are you trying to do, kill yourself?  What would that get you except for a hole in the ground?"

            "Merry, enough!" Frodo demanded, his patience spent.  "Peregrin, come down right this instant--this will stop right now, do you hear me?"

            High in the tree, Pippin laughed.  "You're a fool, cousin," he said and Frodo paled visibly.  "You walk blindly in a world without love . . . misplaced love and I--"  The young Hobbit stopped, as though distracted and he blinked and shook his head.

            "Pippin?" Merry called up, worriedly.  "Pip, what is it?"

            "He's right," Frodo whispered softly, beside him.  Merry glanced sideways at him.  "But he does not speak of me . . . misplaced love, dear Pip?  No, not ever . . . but I—I understand . . ."

            "Frodo?"

            Frodo ignored Merry and instead sought out his youngest cousin.  But whatever words he was going to say were lost, for Pippin's grip upon the branch slipped, faltered, for the darkness had at last come and taken him away.

            Merry cried out in terror and disbelief.  Frodo did not yell, nor did he move; he could do nothing but watch his small cousin fall from the great tree's embrace.

~*~


	11. When Evil Awakens

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Tenth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

When Evil Awakens

            "Frodo, do something!"

            _Frodo, do something . . . . _the world echoed mockingly.

"He's not breathing!  Pippin!?  Frodo, _help_ me!"

            _Not breathing . . . Frodo . . . ._

The night shrieked in agony; the darkness screamed in pleasure.  He could not escape It for It was everywhere--all around him, in him, _apart _of him.  He knew he could not escape It, no, nor did he want to.  It's touch gave him life, for he breathed It into him.  He desired It even as It desired him.

            "Frodo, what's the matter with you?  Pippin--Pip, can you hear me?"

            A voice called him but it was irrelevant_.  _Frodo knew this to be so.  Someone was calling to him, pleading with him, but it was not important.  

This darkness was, for it comforted him when nothing else could.  He wanted away . . . and It could take him away.

            Merry did not dare touch his cousin.  Pippin did not breath, Merry knew, for his chest neither rose nor fell.  He did not know if he lived, though, and debated whether or not to check his pulse.  He hung back, fearful, not knowing what to do.  Frodo was no help--he stared blankly ahead, nothing Merry said registered.  He yelled at him but with no response he turned back to Pippin, hanging over him indecisively.  Finally, he whirled and took off back to camp, brushing by Frodo who did not so much as blink.

            "Aragorn!" Merry cried, running as fast as his short legs would carry him.  He crashed through the forest's underbrush, low branches slashing at his face and roots entangling his feet but somehow he managed not to fall.  "Aragorn!" he screamed, heedless of the fact that other ears aside from his friends' might hear.  "Ara_gorn!_"

            Suddenly, the Ranger was before him, reaching out and catching him in a strong, firm grip.

            "Aragorn," Merry gasped, breathless.  His round face was pale and his small body shook, but he managed to grasp the Ranger with such a grip that Aragorn knelt before him, his dark eyes shadowed with worry.

            "Merry," Aragorn spoke softly, though his eyes ever roamed the woods, watchful of danger.  "What is it?  Where are your cousins?"

            Merry shook his head, fighting for breath, but could only point behind him and gasp, "Pippin!"  Aragorn rose to his feet and ran in the direction the Hobbit had indicated.  Merry watched him go, his eyes filling with tears.  "Pippin," he sobbed again.

He turned and followed the long-legged Ranger, stumbling after him in a haze of fear and grief.

            He came upon Aragorn kneeling over his cousin, feeling for the pulse that he had been too afraid to find--or not find.  The Ranger looked up at the Hobbit's approach.  "He's alive."

            "But he doesn't breathe," Merry said and Aragorn saw that the Hobbit wept.  He sheathed his sword (as he had drawn it for fear Pippin had been in danger of Orcs or Men of Saruman) and tilted the halfling's head back with a large, callused hand.  He took a breath of air and knelt down and placed his mouth over Pippin's.  He breathed into him gently, once . . . twice . . . three times . . . 

            Merry watched, holding his own breath--perhaps in fear, perhaps in the hope that the less he breathed the more air there would be for Pippin.  _Breathe, little cousin, breathe, _he prayed.

            Pippin coughed and breathed.

            Meriadoc sobbed in relief and flung himself down beside his cousin . . . but once again he hesitated, hovering just beyond touch, fearing he might somehow hurt such a delicate, tortured thing.

            "There, there, that's a good lad," Aragorn soothed softly, brushing aside his curls.  "That's it, deep gulps, young Took, deep gulps.

"I will not touch him."  He said this to Merry, though his eyes did not leave Pippin.  The halfling breathed evenly now but did not wake.  "I know not how injured he is.  I will wait for Gandalf to come, for his skill in healing far out does my own.

"Where is Frodo?" he asked suddenly.

            Merry glanced around, for the first time noting that his elder cousin was nowhere to be seen.  "I--I do not--"  He scrambled to his feet.  "He was here but a moment ago . . . when I left.  He was here when I but left."  He scanned the woods, frowning.  "Frodo?" he called.  "Frodo-lad, where are you?"

            "He is not here, Merry," the Ranger said, looking to the ground and spying the Ringbearer's footprints.  "There," he said, pointing to the tracks and following them with his finger.  They continued on . . . South.

            "Why--" Merry began, confused, but the Ranger cut him off.  

            "Return to the Fellowship.  Bring Gandalf and hurry back.  Do you know the way?"  Merry nodded.  "Then go."

            "But--"

            "Go, Merry!" Aragorn hissed, his patience wearing thin as things were happening which he did not understand.  "We must see to Pippin first.  When Gandalf comes I will go after Frodo."

            Merry nodded and fled back to the remaining Fellowship. 

            "Frodo!  Frodo-lad, where are you?"

            _Merry?  _In the darkness, Frodo could not find his cousin.  He looked around, lost, alone, confused.  'Indeed, where am I?'  The land that he looked upon was none that he knew.  His feet sank into burning ash and he could not breathe for the suffocating darkness around him--he wondered even how he could see.

            'Is _this_ Mordor?'he wondered, his heart constricting in fear.  He had heard tales of this land, mainly from Gandalf (though, too, from Lord Elrond and his Cousin Bilbo) but words alone could not describe the desolation laid out before his horrified gaze.  'Is this the land of the Dark Lord?'  Frodo shuddered and though he wished for nothing save to close his eyes and banish the sight from mind, he found himself drawn to the blackened and twisted wasteland.

            _'Home!'_  The thought entered his mind in a flash of longing desire.  It was his own thought, though at the same time one he did not recognize, for it was darkened with malice and devout of logic, for Mordor was not _his_ home; it was the home of none he knew save the Dark Lord.  

            He took a step forward, his heart drumming with excitement at the foul-smelling landscape, for it seemed to feed off a sort of dead life that he had long been without and now desired more than ought else.  He looked upon the shadows and wanted to dash forward into them, mold with them, become apart of them . . . but something held him back, something he had forgotten . . . . Something that he should _not_ have forgotten . . . .

~*~


	12. The Young, the Old, and the Wise

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Eleventh Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

The Young, the Old, and the Wise

            "Ah, he wakes."

            Peregrin Took moaned, for his stomach felt as wretched as ever and the briefest of glimpses upon the outside world burned his mind to unintelligible thought.

            A hand reached out and grasped his own.  "Pip?  Can you hear me, Pip?"  The young Hobbit would have pulled his hand away if he had but the strength.  He did not, though, and he moaned again in protest, struggling feebly.  Would they not just let him be?  Did they not understand how wretched he felt?

            "There, there, little Hobbit," came a soft, lilting voice and through the haze and pain and misery of his mind, Peregrin thought it to be Legolas.  "It is your cousin; Master Meriadoc is at your side."

            "Aye, Pip, aye.  It is Merry.  Dear old Merry.  Won't you wake for me?  Open an eye.  Everything is alright now, everything is alright."

            "Shh, Merry," said Legolas softly.  "He is well.  Do not carry on so, he is well."

            The sound of someone crying came to Pippin as from a distance and he shifted, suddenly fighting the pain and illness of heart and body, for he knew whom that someone was.

            "Merry?" Pippin croaked, a singular gray eye cracking open slightly.  "Merry, what ails you?"  He peered up at his cousin, who was being comforted by the Elf.  Merry's face alighted instantaneously at the reawakening of his younger cousin. 

            "Pip!  Oh, Pippin, you're well.  How do you fair?  Does it hurt?  Can you breath evenly?  It does not hurt, does it?"  From the first, Merry had reached across and grasped Pippin by the hands, clinging to him as if he were afraid letting go my cause a horrific calamity.

            Pippin groaned and rolled away, fighting weakly for the release of his hands.  "Merry," Peregrin moaned but could utter nothing more.  

            Merry rubbed his cousin's back comfortingly.  "There, there, Cousin.  I know, I know," he soothed.  

            'How could you possibly know?'Pippin wondered to himself, grimacing in pain, but aloud he merely said:  "Let me be, Merry.  I feel ill."

            Meriadoc frowned at this, hesitated but a moment and then said, "Can I get you anything?"

            Pippin did not at first respond and Merry thought his cousin was being obstinate (as was usually the case when he was feeling unwell), but then he replied:  "I am tired.  I think I shall sleep now."

            The elder Hobbit reached forward and ran his hands through the youngster's curls.

            "Merry," Pippin protested and Merry let his hand fall away.

            "All right, Pip," he said.  "You may sleep."  He stood then, and turned away.  

After a moment of quiet thought, Legolas rose in search of Gandalf.

            "The halfling sleeps contently, Mithrandir.  There seems to be naught wrong with him save what can be expected after such an act of foolishness.  Give him several hours of rest and he shall be fit and hail once again and able to continue on.  

            "How does Aragorn fair in his search?" Legolas inquired lightly.  Gandalf looked at him sharply for his seemingly careless manner of the question.  Seeing the glare, the Elf smiled softly and with little shame.  "You forget with whom you converse, Mithrandir.  I fear for Frodo no less than any here.  Have you been away from my kin for so long?"

            Gandalf relaxed into a smile, though it held little humor but encompassed much grief and sorrow.  "Too long, young Prince.  And those I do come across is but for a brief time, holding little save in the way of the most import of business . . . like now," the wizard sighed.

            Legolas laughed lightly and the sound was something marvelous to behold.  Sam, who stood some distance away, fretting for the disappearance of his master and staying were he was only for the restraining hands of the Man, Boromir, (and for a stern talking to from Gandalf) looked up in awe and the worry, for but a brief moment, left his face.  "Few would name me 'young', Gandalf.  I am many times again the age of those among us."

            "You are still young," Gandalf said, and by his tone the matter was not to be disputed.  Legolas sobered.

            "The search?" Legolas asked again.

            Sudden fury flashed across the old man's face and Legolas paused to behold such a thing.  It was gone sooner than it came, though, and replaced by such grief that few individuals have ever seen, let alone experienced.

            "Mithrandir?" the Elf spoke hesitantly, his tone thick with concern.

            "It may end, yet," Gandalf said, and the Elf had the feeling the old man spoke neither to him nor anyone else but merely to himself.  "Already and within the very bounds of Lord Elrond's lands.  Is He now so very strong?  Is His reach so far?"

            "You speak of Sauron," Legolas knew, and the wizard started and looked up at him.  

            "Aye," he said, "Sauron," and he spat the name as if it were a vile thing on his tongue.  Suddenly, Legolas perceived that Mithrandir crumbled upon himself and became, at that moment, as a thing suddenly very small and fearful and devout of all hope.  

"He is winning," Gandalf the Grey whispered and the world became as a very dark and misshapen thing, for that sudden dimming of a very bright and majestic soul.

            "No," Legolas said softly.  "It cannot be.  Winning?  The Dark Lord, winning?"  The young Prince's features hardened.  "It shall not be," he vowed.  "We will prevail, Mithrandir.  _Frodo_ will prevail.  He must!"  And the last came out in an almost desperate plea.

            "Yes," Gandalf affirmed harshly several moments later.  The small, hollow man dissipated then and a man very Wise and clever returned.  Legolas' features once again radiated that soft glow of eternal youth, for his spirit, so much like the Sun, could not so easily be cast into shadows.  "Yes," the wizard spoke again.  "Frodo must prevail, and with him this Fellowship."  He turned back to the Elf, his eyes coming into sharp focus.  "The Took is well, then?"

            Legolas started, having been convinced that he had already explained Pippin's situation quite clearly.  "Yes, the young Took fairs well--oddly enough.  It should have been different, Mithrandir," the Elf said softly, remembering how high the young Hobbit had climbed and knowing that he had drank far beyond his small body's capacity.  "It should have ended very different." 

            "But it didn't," the wizard said.  "And it matters not how it should have ended.  Nothing is finished besides.  Frodo is not found and none have spoken to the foolish Took."

            The Elf nodded somberly.  "Do not expect young Merry to carry through with the latter.  He is shaken so that I fear for his own health and stability.  Especially with the young one's awakening," he said as an after thought, more to himself than to Gandalf.  The wizard's sharp hearing, however, caught every word.

            "It can only be expected."

            The Elf shook his head in confusion.  "I do not understand their ways, I must admit.  They baffle me.  What could bring the Took to tread a path of such darkness?"

            "Not so dark," Gandalf commented.

            Legolas sighed, clearly sporting a different view.  "Forgive me, Mithrandir, but the ways of these folk are strange to me."

            Gandalf grasped his staff with both hands, leaning his full weight upon it, and chuckled lightly.  "There is nothing to forgive, my dear Elf.  These Hobbits are no more confusing than are Men or Dwarves.  Each race share individual views.  Hobbits are no more confusing than Elves," and the old man's eyes twinkled in silent amusement.

            Legolas sniffed.  "Elves are _not_ confusing," he said, but he could not help but smile and nod his head in understanding.

~*~


	13. Lost Souls

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Twelfth Part of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

Lost Souls

            The foulness cast its dark cloak aside and was soon replaced by a land quite different.  The change came slowly and over a course of a day and a half.  Such a lengthy time span was unknown to the Hobbit, who wandered the land in a dreamlike state, living in a world of memories and nightmares that shifted so fast and haphazardly that the Hobbit soon could not discern one from the other, could not recall what he was reliving and what he was experiencing anew . . . 

            A little Hobbit-child ran down a well-worn path, crying merrily, "Cousin Frodo!  Cousin Frodo, won't you come and play?"  Frodo smiled fondly at his dear little Pip and even as he opened his mouth to respond the child fell to the ground screaming and writhing as if fire consumed him, though no flame touched his clothes nor skin nor hair.  

            Frodo ran to him, crying, "Pippin!  Pippin-lad, what is the matter?  Tell me what is wrong!"  But the child could not speak for the pain that wracked his small frame.  Frodo held him, speaking softly and trying to soothe away his hurts, though in his heart he knew it to be a vain attempt; this was beyond him.  Tears streamed down his face at the hopelessness of it all.

            Suddenly, Pippin shrieked, "_Why?  Why, Cousin, Why!?_"

            "Why what, Pip?" Frodo asked, desperate for him to speak but not understanding the child's words.

            "Why have you left me?  What have I done?"

            Frodo held the child tighter, rocking him and sobbing.  "Nothing, Pippin, oh, nothing at all.  You've done nothing to displease me.  I am here, right here.  Can't you see me?"

            "Why have you left me?" Pippin cried again as if he heard not at all what Frodo said.

            "I haven't left you!" Frodo sobbed.  "I haven't!  I'm right here.  I hold you, Pip.  I'm here!"

            The darkness consumed them, came in and then was gone, leaving behind only a solitary figure, who knelt upon the ground, crying.

            "Frodo?"  The hunched figure looked up.  "Frodo, are you well?  Why ever do you kneel upon the ground?"

            Frodo blinked, confused.  Why _did_ he kneel upon the ground?  "Why--why I do not know," he admitted at length, coming to no conclusion for his odd behavior.  Young Peregrin Took frowned but stepped forward and offered a hand.  Frodo accepted the help.

            "Are you well, Cousin?" Pippin asked, steadying Frodo, who tilted precariously on his feet.  "Why, Frodo!" he gasped suddenly, spying tears in the elder Hobbit's eyes.  "You've been crying!" 

Frodo touched his cheeks hesitantly and was surprised to find them wet.  "If I have been I don't recall why," was all the explanation he could give.

            "Maybe its best you lie down," Pippin suggested, dragging his cousin to the door of Bag End, not but several yards away.

            'Odd,' thought Frodo.  'I don't recall being home.'In fact, Frodo had the discomforting feeling that he hadn't seen his house for many long months and should not see it again for a good many more.

            "Pippin?" Frodo inquired, somewhat embarrassed though more than a little frightened.  "Were we not someplace far from Hobbiton?"

            Pippin turned a worried glance on his elder cousin.  "Frodo, are you certain you're feeling well?"

            "I'm feeling fine!" he snapped, confused and frightened at the absurdity of it all.

            "You seem to be rather . . . distracted lately.  Is there something the matter?"  Frodo's hand went unconsciously to his chest, where a cold, hard lump could be felt beneath his shirt and waistcoat.  Pippin noted Frodo's troubled face and his frown deepened.  "You can speak to me, you know that, Cousin.  If there is something the matter, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

            "Don't be silly," Frodo said, brushing Pippin aside and turning away.  He caressed the Ring lovingly, not wholly realizing his actions. 

            "I am not being silly," Pippin protested, somewhat indignant.  There was something the matter with his cousin, this he knew.  "If you will not speak to me of such matters won't you talk to Merry?"

            "Oh, Pippin, don't be foolish!  I am perfectly fine!"

            "You are not 'perfectly fine,' Cousin!  Why won't you talk to me?"

            "Why won't you let _me_ be?!" 

_Let me be . . . Let me be . . . Let me be! . . . _The words echoed eerily throughout a sudden nothingness, for as he spoke them Pippin slowly faded away, along with him Bag End and the whole of Hobbiton.

            Over the course of a day-and-a-half, Aragorn found, tracked, lost, relocated, and then again lost Frodo's trail.  It was a winding, haphazard thing, leading one way and then another but always going south.  It was as if Frodo could not make up his mind, was confused about something and hesitated often in his trek, but his ultimate goal was always in mind.  

            The first time Aragorn lost the trail, he was completely baffled.  It was as if Frodo disappeared into thin air.  He didn't relocate the winding scent until about a mile-and-a-half later, dead south, where Aragorn merely stumbled upon it by pure luck.  By this time, he had a fair idea that South was the Hobbit's direction, though why and exactly where South he did not know.  If truth were known, the Ranger didn't understand the Hobbit's intent.  If he was going to Mordor, as his trail seemed to point out, Aragorn didn't understand why Frodo had left the company of the Fellowship.  Had something horrible happened with the Ring . . . had It finally claimed him?  This above anything else, made Aragorn fairly tear through the forest in search of the halfling.  

            Frodo stood in a haze of unrecognizable landscape.  Everywhere was no longer black but a sullen gray, from the heavens above to the bare earth beneath.  

            Frodo peered around weakly, remembering dimly a gray-eyed someone who he ought to know from a place not so very far away.  Who this someone was, though, he could not seem to recall, though a nagging irritating voice whispered in the back of his head that he ought to recall and he ought to recall now.  He felt a sudden urgency to . . . flee . . . somewhere . . . .

            But where?  A part of him tugged him one way while another pulled him the exact opposite.  It was like he was playing tug-a-war with himself.

            'A silly game to play by yourself,' he thought suddenly, almost giddily, and from the grayness around him he saw a small figure come.

            "Only silly to those who have others to play with," the figure said, most matter-of-factly.  "I've played it alone before.  Don't you remember?"

            "You were very small, then," Frodo said, knowing that this was the one he had tried to recall.  He stood before him, very grown up, a handsome Hobbit who had all the pretty lass' crawling all over each other to get at him.  "And your sisters weren't very nice."

            The younger Hobbit chuckled.  "No, they told me it was possible and only smart, grown-up Hobbits could accomplish such."

            Frodo smiled fondly.  "You were always too eager to grow up."

            The other Hobbit's smile faded.  "Only because I was afraid I'd lose those most dear to me."

            Frodo's own smile vanished.  "I know," he said.  "I realize that now . . . I never did before.  But, Pip, you never lost me, and you never can.  I will always be here for you."

            Pippin was shaking his head.  "But I've already lost you, Cousin.  You have already left . . ."  He sighed heavily.   "Goodbye, Frodo."  And Pippin, whose face was full of sorrow and a kind of disappointment, faded slowly from the gray land.

            "Pippin?" Frodo called, startled and frightened at his disappearance.  "Pippin, wait!" he cried and he ran after his vanished cousin.  Something was not right.  Pippin needed him, he knew, but he could not find him.  "I haven't left you!  I haven't!  Come back, Pip, come back!"  But the farther he ran the heavier his limbs became and slowly he was dragged to his knees by some great weight that pulled at his throat.  "Wait!" he sobbed, struggling feverishly to regain his footing.  He could not, though, for the weight was just too great and, finally, he collapsed in a huddled heap, crying bitterly with not to comfort him but a golden Ring.  

            This time It offered him no relief.

            It was the night of the second day that the Ranger lost, for the third time, the halfling's trail.  Once again it was as if Frodo had just vanished into thin air, causing his tracks merely to _stop_ and continue on no more.  With what all Gandalf had told him about the Ring this very well could have been the case.  However, whether it was or wasn't, the Ranger did not think that Frodo vanishing with the aid of the Ring would obliterate the trail completely.  To the eye, Frodo could disappear but not so that he wouldn't leave a footprint in the dirt should he step down.

            Frustrated from a search that was going ill and irritated from lack of sleep, Aragorn frowned down at the last sign of Frodo's passing.  He bent down and peered at the flattened grass, just the size of a Hobbit if he lay curled up in a small ball.  He studied it momentarily, and then straightening, he looked around.  

            Aragorn wondered idly how the Fellowship was doing and if Gandalf had them following his trail or if they remained behind where the Ranger had left them.  He figured they were probably on the trail.  No sense in making him backtrack once he located the Hobbit, especially if they were going in the right direction anyway.

            Aragorn sighed, his thoughts returning to the vanished Hobbit.  After several moments of silent debating the man could think of nothing but continuing on and hope that luck was once again favoring him.  He moved on but made it only several yards before he froze.

            Something had caught his ear, a soft noise hardly worthy of notice save that it was oddly familiar to him.  He did not dare move, straining with all his might to hear the sound again, for if he was correct in his assumption of its source then his search was complete.

            And then he heard it again, though this time it was no longer the soft moan he had first heard but a piercing scream.  Aragorn turned toward the noise, his heart beating frantically in his chest, and he looked down at the flattened grass at his feet.  

            It shifted, as if an invisible body rolled about, and Aragorn knew that Frodo had put on the One Ring.  

~*~


	14. The Light I See In You May Save Me Yet

Disclaimer:  I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live.  Tolkien owns such.

A/N:  The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today.  I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts.  You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that.  Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.

A tale of friendship and dark paths.

Being the Conclusion of….

To Tread the Path of Darkness

The Light I See In You May Save Me Yet

            "What do you mean, Frodo's gone?" Pippin demanded of his cousin.  He came fully awake, the painful traces of his recent episode with Durin's Bane becoming like a nightmare, the only reminder being his sore ribs, bruised body, and throbbing head.

            Merry shrugged helplessly and pulled Pippin to a sitting position.  "Aragorn is looking for him now," he said simply, but the fear in his eyes belied any calmness in his voice.

            "When--How long....Why didn't anybody tell me, Merry?" and the anger in his voice melted as tears sprang to his eyes.  He was ashamed of them and turned away in embarrassment.

            "Oh, Pip," Merry breathed and he reached out to pull Pippin close.  "Everything will be alright.  Aragorn will find Frodo," he said with a reassurance he did not feel in the least.  Night had descended long ago and the light of dawn was already visible on the eastern horizon.  For all the time that passed, Aragorn had not returned and Merry worried for his elder cousin more so than he had ever worried for another before.  He wanted to sit down and cry, but such a thing was not a gentlehobbit-like thing to do.  He had young Peregrin to watch out for, besides, and it would not do to break down now.  "Everything will be alright," he said again, this time very close to tears himself.

            Pippin pushed Merry away.  "Stop it, Merry," Pippin hissed angrily, hot tears burning on his cheeks.  "Just stop it.  Everything will _not_ be all right.  Can't you for once be honest with me?  I _know_ what we are about.  I understand the danger of this Quest.  Why can't you understand that, Merry?  Why don't you understand that you don't have to protect me anymore?"

            Suddenly, clearer to him than ever before, Merry saw a great gaping chasm separating him from his dear little cousin.  He had never noticed it before, or had refused to, and now it yawned so wide that none beneath the heavens could ever hope to cross such and Merry felt very small and insignificant and useless then, with his cousin face as hard as stone.  Merry hardly even recognized Pippin.

            Merry wept.  For fear of Frodo, for losing his Pippin, for loneliness, for the unfairness of it all--Merry did not know.  But he wept nonetheless.  Burying his face in his hands, Meriadoc Brandybuck cried for the first time in young Peregrin Took's memory.

            Pippin stared, shocked, then pulled his dear, sweet Merry close and held him, just as Merry had once held his 'little Pip,' and he whispered sweet nothings into his ear.  

            Aragorn knelt down where he thought Frodo to be.  He could not see the Hobbit but he could hear him, and the grasses shifted and seemed to moan and cry all their very own.  The Ranger reached out a hand but hesitated at the last.

            "Frodo?" Aragorn called.  "Frodo, take off the Ring.  Strider is here to help you."

            The grasses ceased their moans and silence descended.

            "Aragorn?" came a frightened cry and it seemed to the Ranger that it came from far away.

            "Yes, Frodo, it is I."

            The grasses rustled.  "Where are you, Aragorn?  I cannot see you."

            "Here, right before you.  Reach out to me, Frodo, and take off the Ring."

            "I cannot touch you," the Hobbit whispered, fear thick on his tongue.  "Go away, Aragorn, please.  It is powerful.  I don't want It to hurt you; I don't want It to hurt any of you."

            "Take It off, Frodo," Aragorn pleaded again.  He reached out and touched the Hobbit and felt his fingers entwine in soft curls.  "I will take you back to the Fellowship and we will face this evil together.  You need not face it alone.  Please, take the Ring from your finger."

            "I cannot," Frodo whimpered and Aragorn felt his heart sink in dread.  Lord Elrond and Gandalf had been so confident that this small halfling could withstand the Dark Lord's malice; that he would not succumb to It's will.  But he had.  Already, the Fellowship had failed.  "I am afraid," Frodo whispered.

            Aragorn traced his hand down the Hobbit's form until he found his small hand and gripped it.  "Do not be," he said.  "The Ring feeds off of fear, Frodo.  You must fight it; you must be strong."

            For many long moments Frodo did not speak and a sudden great fear seized Aragorn's heart and he wondered at the trickery of the Ring.  But, then, the air shimmered as a thing alive and suddenly Frodo was there, curled into a small ball, and with eyes sqeezed tight, he grasped Aragorn's hand as if it were his only stability in a world gone terribly mad.

            Frodo's mood was dark.  He stumbled along beside the Ranger, his head bowed in deep thought.  He had not once spoken aloud and Aragorn had not encouraged it.  His own heart was suddenly in doubt and he wanted only to return to the Fellowship and have a word with Gandalf, for this Ring was beyond any mortal man, as such had been proven in the past to the ruin of many.

            They walked long that night and it was only at the breaking of dawn that Aragorn paused and cocked his head slightly to the side.  Beside him Frodo continued on, so preoccupied with his own inner struggle that he did not take note of the Ranger's actions.

            "Frodo," Aragorn called and the young Hobbit looked over, though the look was distracted and held little interest for the present.  "Wait a moment."  The Hobbit stood there obediently, waiting, his thoughts once again drifting.  Aragorn nodded suddenly.  "We are close."  He took off in great stride and the Hobbit followed, though more slowly, until far ahead he heard the Ranger call.

            "Legolas!"  Laughter came then, light and beautiful and Frodo recognized it instantly as the Elf's.

            "So there you are, friend Aragorn!  Was you're search successful?"  Frodo spied the Elf running forward and had the sudden desire to dig himself a nice hole and hide there forever.

            "Aye," Aragorn replied.  "He is well, though tired I deem."

            "As you are certainly," the Elf said.  His almond-shaped eyes turned to Frodo and the light in them dimmed somewhat.  He came before him and knelt, offering the Hobbit a quiet smile.  "I am pleased to 'see' you, Master Halfling," and his meaning did not go unnoted by the Hobbit.  Frodo smiled weakly, as it was all his heavy heart would allow.  

            But then he spoke of something that had on his mind since the darkness came, something that had eluded him up until the very end.  "Pippin?" he said softly.  "Is my cousin well?  Will you take me to him?"

            Pippin was the first to see the three.  He let out a cry of joy and relief and was in Frodo's arms before the others even guessed at his actions.  Frodo held Pippin to him.

            "I thought I had lost you," Frodo said softly and after a moment Pippin pulled away slightly.

            "Lost _me_?" he said, incredulous.  "What about _you_?  Don't you ever do that again, do you hear me, Cousin?  What ever compelled you to run away like that?"

            Frodo couldn't help but smile, for Pippin sounded so much like his father then and not at all like the little lad that had once been his shadow.  The smile faded, though, and he pulled Pippin close again, buried his face in the young Took's soft curls and cried softly.  "I'm sorry, Pippin," he whispered.  "I'm sorry that it took me so long to understand."

            Now it was Pippin's turn to hold Frodo and he comforted him.  "I don't blame you, Frodo.  I don't blame Merry, either.  Not anymore."  He pushed him away gently so that he could look into his eyes.  "You're crying," he said and Frodo laughed weakly, though it turned into a sob at the last.  "Silly Hobbit," he murmured.  "I have neither seen any of you cry."

            "Then you are the silly Hobbit," Frodo retorted but there was no anger in his tone; he only sounded tired.  "I have cried more times than you and Merry put together.  And I have soothed Merry more times than I can recall."  He smiled fondly, remembering.

            Pippin looked hard at Frodo.  "And who has soothed away you're hurts, Cousin?"

            Frodo smiled.  "You have, lad.  Both you and Merry, and dear Ol' Sam," and at the last his eyes lingered off to Pippin's left and the Took followed his cousin's gaze.  There stood Merry and Sam, hanging back uncomfortably.  And beyond them the Fellowship shuffled about as if busy, eyes lingering on the two only when they thought the Hobbits weren't looking.  As they saw Frodo and Pippin regarding them, Merry and Sam hurried to their side.

            "How are you, Frodo?" Merry asked and his voice was soft and ill at ease.

            Frodo heaved a sigh.  "Oh, I should be better I suppose when I've had a hot meal . . ." he paused a moment, and then:  "Afterwards perhaps a certain three kinsmen of mine might join me for a little talk."  His hand lingered near his heart, where a cold circlet of gold was hidden by a thin layer of cloth.  He forced it back down.  "There is much I need tell you.  And much you need tell me," he said, glancing at Pippin.  Silently, the youth nodded.  

            "No more walking alone," Frodo said firmly and reaching out he grasped his cousins by the hand.  His eyes fell to Merry and then to Sam, and he squeezed Pippin's small hand in his own.  "If we are to walk these paths of darkness then we shall do so together, for the light I see in you may save me yet."

~*~

For those who have walked in their own darkness,

And been pulled free by the light of a kindred spirit.


End file.
